Chapter 1235 397: The Eccentric Dictator

Everything in this time and space has been turned upside down.

Distorted to the point of suffocation.

Grindelwald was not imprisoned; rather, he joined forces with Hitler, using Magic Power to win World War II. But afterwards, the wizards' ambitions sparked a civil war and were ultimately eradicated by the joint forces of technology and totalitarianism.

Magic is no longer a secret legend; it has been publicly utilized and openly purged as "dangerous technology." Wizards have become the "taboo" and "extinct race" of this world.

And he, Ian, a Legendary Mage from the Official History World, blessed by the Sun God and destined to become a beloved White Wizard, suddenly crashed into this terrifying era where wizards have been declared extinct.

"What on earth is going on!" Ian's mind was in turmoil. He intended to find the era of Merlin and Arthur but mistakenly entered a dark parallel universe where magic was desecrated, exploited, and ultimately exterminated. Here, there are no Round Table Knights, no glory of Camelot, only the Nazi iron heel and the erased Magic History.

And him.

He seems to have become the sole surviving wizard?

"What did you do to me!" The Imperial Police Captain collapsed on the ground, eyes vacant, drooling at the mouth. Legilimency has caused permanent damage to his mind.

But Ian had no time to concern himself with this.

More sirens sounded in the distance. Clearly, the commotion here had attracted much larger attention.

Ian took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He must leave here quickly and find a safe place to carefully consider his strategy—this time and space's darkness far exceeds his imagination. Not only have the Nazis won the war, more importantly, once the existence of wizards was completely exposed, they suffered such a fate.

This completely upended all his perceptions of the relationship between magic and Muggle.

"First, let's leave here."

Ian told himself, lightly waving his Magic Wand to erase all traces he left behind. He cast one last glance at the unconscious crowd and that captain who could no longer control his bodily functions.

"Without wizards, without Alchemists' created Alchemy Materials, how can I repair the Time Machine?" Ian stood by the deserted police car.

He felt anxious.

He looked back again.

His gaze swept over the fallen crowd—villagers, police officers were all immersed in a dreamless sleep. Only Captain Carl was still half-kneeling on the ground, eyes unfocused, lips slightly moving.

As if still chewing on the collapse of understanding brought by the word "wizard."

From afar, more sirens grew closer.

Time was running out.

The reluctant-to-accept-reality Ian knew that this police force was by no means isolated. Their communication system must have issued an alert, and more "Empire Order Enforcers" were coming. He had to leave.

"Sigh, the mountain road will surely open, I need to calm down."

He walked towards the dark gray armored police car, the door left open, the keys still in the ignition. The vehicle didn't resemble any modern police cars from his memory, but more like a hybrid of a military jeep and an armored personnel carrier, with a heavy body, wide tires, inside filled with a complex dashboard and flickering red indicator lights.

Ian took a deep breath, opened the door, and sat in the driver's seat.

Unlike any car he had seen.

The control panel of this car was complex enough to dazzle the eyes. What confused him most was that there were actually four pedals underfoot, and the symbols on the gear stick were utterly incomprehensible to him.

"Damn it, cars in this world don't have automatic transmission?" Ian complained, recalling the terminology mentioned by friends in another time and space when discussing cars.

He tried pressing the leftmost pedal while turning the key—engine roared but the car didn't move. Tried again, paired with the middle pedal. Subsequently, the engine roared, like a fierce beast awakening. The dashboard's needles jumped wildly, and the spotlight on the car's front pierced through the forest mist.

"Good, successful start." Ian breathed a sigh of relief, pressing the rightmost pedal—he assumed it was the accelerator.

The car jolted violently and stalled.

"What?"

He reignited, pressed again. This time the car didn't stall but emitted an ear-piercing howl, vibrating fiercely.

"Damn! Why is this car so hard to manage?" He looked down, seeing four pedals underfoot instead of three he recalled. The leftmost was the clutch, the middle two were the brake and accelerator, and the outermost seemed to be an extension of the handbrake? No one knows why the car structure in this universe is so peculiar.

Perhaps that's the reason for the world's different trajectory. More police car sounds came from afar, Ian could see the dust rising on the distant road.

His wisdom was fairly good, began to recall memories gleaned from the previous police captain's mind, studied slightly, roughly grasping the idea.

"Clutch... accelerator... shifting gears... damn sequence!" Ian was sweating profusely, fingers fumbling on the shift lever, "Aren't cars supposed to go by just pressing the accelerator in movies?!"

Finally, after the fifth attempt, the car slowly moved forward. Ian breathed a sigh of relief, was about to accelerate, but the car suddenly jerked violently—he forgot to release the handbrake.

"Ah—!"

The police car lunged forward like a wild beast, dashed out of the forest path, plunging into a narrow dirt road.

Ian flailed hectically, steering left and right, the car head frantically swaying amid the ravines, smacking like a bumper car on a rampage. From outside, this police car seemed to be dancing bizarrely on the road, accelerating at times and braking suddenly, tires carving zigzag trails on the dirt path.